Rough Draft

The surface appears an unperplexed cool, but a tempest's churning beneath. Where day follows night, and night follows sorrow. Life's beginning to spin some way beyond control, it feels as if the thread hanging is beginning to thin by the day. There's really few, or maybe even zilch purposes in this place. I swear, or take my word for it, that there's absolutely no way I'm staying here once I get the first chance to leave this forsaken place. I want to fly, need to fly above and out my cage, my nest. A drag, it may seems, and the days crawl by. But one day in freedom's a thousand day better in a cold, bitter prison.

For now, I'm escaping reality. I'll build myself another world elsewhere, far away from the eyes of onlookers.

posted by cigarettelove @ 7:44 AM